Musings of a Big Brother
by A Puppet on a Lonely String
Summary: Each and every one of them knew the risks of being a part of International Rescue, but there were certain occasions when those risks were well and truly hammered home. Yesterday had been one of them. Scott shuddered. Below his feet in the bowels of Tracy Island lay the carcass of the giant green behemoth that had almost become Virgil's tomb.


**A/N: This is my first venture into the world of fanfiction, so I'd be grateful for any reviews or comments you may have! Thank-you.**

 **Disclaimer: All rights to International Rescue and the Thunderbirds belong to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson - I do not own anything, nor will I make any profit from this piece.**

* * *

What remained of the cockpit of Thunderbird Two was filled with black smoke, making Scott's eyes water and the back of his throat itch. Scorch marks clawed their way up the already charred walls and flames flickered brightly from somewhere in the general direction of the pilot's chair, reflected in the cracked window. Correction, flames flickered brightly in the general direction of where the pilot's chair _used_ to be. Said object was nothing more than a crumpled and twisted wreck on the floor. And it was empty.

"Virgil?"

Nothing. No answer. Scott's stomach dropped, his breath hitching. He couldn't be too late. Dear God, he just couldn't. He stumbled forward blindly towards the chair, tripping over a sizeable piece of broken console lying on the floor. Narrowly avoiding face-planting the edge of the control panel – or what was left of it – and flinching as a shower of sparks flew from the display next to him, Scott found himself at eye level with the steering column, the sight of which made the young pilot feel sick to the very core. The usually pristine white yoke was caked with bright red blood, some of which dripped onto the floor. Virgil's blood.

"Scott..."

Scott's head snapped round so quickly his neck made an audible click. His cobalt blue gaze fell on a shadow just about visible through the haze on the other side of the cockpit. Dragging himself to his feet Scott staggered uneasily towards the shadow, almost afraid of what he might find.

His brother's shape loomed through the smoke.

"No." Scott choked.

The middle Tracy brother lay sprawled on the floor of his beloved plane, battered and broken. His back was arched as spasms racked his body, limbs bent backwards at impossible angles. Dark brown hair, usually well kept, was matted with blood that streamed non-stop from his forehead and right temple. His breathing was strained and laboured as he writhed around, the convulsions attacking him mercilessly. One broken arm was stretched towards the cockpit door, indicating that he had tried to drag himself out of his burning Thunderbird. But his eyes, those big brown agony-riddled eyes, were fixed on Scott. Pleading.

"Virg..." Scott was frozen. His legs simply wouldn't obey him. Only a few times before in his life had he felt this level of helplessness. Most notable was when he was a teenager, watching the giant wall of snow and ice charge down the mountain towards the cabin containing his mother, grandfather and three youngest brothers.

"You promised, Scotty, you promised." And now, one of those brothers lay broken in front of him, confused as to why the man he had hero-worshipped as a child had seemingly broken his long-standing promise of always being there for them. Since the moment Scott had set eyes on a newborn John as a two year old, he had sworn that he would protect his brothers and that, even in their darkest times, he would be there to catch them. He would be their safety net.

"Virgil, I-" A cold hand had adopted a vice-like grip on Scott's heart, taking his breath away. His worst nightmare was being played out in front of him; something was physically holding him back as he tried to move – this wasn't a case of his legs not listening to his brain, but instead of something restraining him and preventing him from trying to desperately save his baby brother. "I tried-"

"You didn't come for me," the light in Virgil's eyes was slowly fading, the spasms lessening. "You broke your promise." He fixed one almost accusatory stare on Scott before a shiver ran up his body and his eyelids flickered shut.

* * *

Scott woke with a jolt and sat bolt upright in bed, skin covered in a layer of sweat. He screwed his eyes shut and attempted to calm his ragged breathing. Virgil was safe. He was alive. He may have been knocked around a bit when Thunderbird Two had been blown out of the sky but he was still alive. Probably sleeping the sleep of the dead, as usual, in his bedroom down the corridor. Scott winced at that thought; not a good joke for this particular time. But his brother was fine. _He almost wasn't,_ whispered the voice in the back of his mind, _if he hadn't regained consciousness when he had..._ _ **boom**_ _! He would have found out just how ill-suited Thunderbird Two is to being a submersible._

Scott exhaled shakily and pried his eyes open, glancing sideways to his alarm clock and flicking on the bedside lamp. 02:17 a.m. He knew that nightmares could be expected – after all, who wouldn't be thrown off kilter at the sight of their brother's flaming 'Bird falling out of the sky – but he wasn't prepared for them to be quite so... disturbing. There was no way in hell he was getting back to sleep any time soon.

Untangling his long legs from the bed covers Scott stood and padded silently in the direction of Virgil's bedroom. The door slid open with a quiet _whoosh_ , closing automatically behind him as he stepped inside. Scott waited for a second for his eyes to fully adjust to the darkness and smiled fondly at the sight that greeted him. Virgil was curled up gingerly on his side with his back to Scott underneath the mountain of covers, with only a few tufts of chocolate brown hair visible along with the bandage wrapped around his head. The sheets rose and fell in time with his breathing which, to Scott's relief, was a far cry from the strained and rasping sound he had heard in his dream.

He crossed the room and perched on the end of the bed. Virgil was frowning slightly in his sleep but, as Scott reached out to gently run a hand through his hair, he snuffled contentedly and curled into the touch. Scott's gaze was drawn to the bandage wrapped around his sibling's head, his smile fading. Virgil had been extremely lucky, with 'only' a sizeable gash to his forehead, very mild concussion and bruising to his ribs and shoulder to show for his earlier brush with death. It could, and probably should, have been a lot worse.

Scott sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the door. He cast one glance over his shoulder, as if to triple check that Virgil was indeed okay, and headed slowly towards the lounge. Moonlight trickled through the patio doors, illuminating the room with a silvery light and casting a spotlight over the baby grand piano stationed in the corner. Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, Scott looked out over the pool and beyond to the ocean. To say that the Tracy brothers had been lucky since International Rescue started was probably the understatement of the decade. Actually, scratch that, the century. The millennium. They'd been drowned, suffocated, gassed, impaled, crushed, blown up, burnt... the whole caboodle.

There wasn't a single one of them who didn't have a scar of some kind as proof of what they'd been through. Scott had one running up the side of his left leg from where he'd sliced it open on an old steel bar during an earthquake rescue in Indonesia. That hadn't been pleasant. It certainly hadn't helped that he didn't report the injury until he'd almost knocked Gordon down a three-storey drop after going dizzy from blood loss. There had been a long line of people waiting to throttle him after that one. With Virgil at the front of it, naturally.

Each and every one of them knew the risks of being a part of International Rescue, but there were certain occasions where those risks were well and truly hammered home. Yesterday had been one of them. Scott shuddered. Below his feet in the bowels of Tracy Island lay the carcass of the giant green behemoth that had almost become Virgil's tomb. Thunderbird Two would be out of action for a few weeks while the painstakingly slow repair process was carried out; they just had to hope there weren't any rescue calls that would be made impossible due to her condition. But, more important than Thunderbird Two's condition was that of her pilot. Virgil would be grounded for at least a week while he recovered, however much he protested.

A soft but purposeful cough came from behind him.

Speaking of the devil. Scott jumped, knee banging against the underside of the breakfast bar, and swivelled round in his seat to face Virgil, who was standing rather blearily in the entrance to the kitchen armed with two mugs.

"What are you doi- oh jeez, Virg, did I wake you up?" Scott asked, dismayed. He had been confident he wouldn't have disturbed him – nothing short of the apocalypse, or the klaxon, could rouse Virgil when he was perfectly healthy, let alone when he was as worn out as he was. Virgil raised an eyebrow as if to say _saw you jump bro_ , and gingerly took a seat next to Scott.

"How could you have woken me up?" Virgil shot him a genuinely confused look as he passed one of the mugs over. Freshly made hot chocolate and marshmallow. Nice. Virgil always had made the best hot chocolate of the family, had done since he was a teenager.

"Oh uh- never mind." Scott moved on quickly. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil snorted and pulled a face, taking a sip from his own mug. "Like I've been shot down by the USS Sentinel. Funny that." At a glance from Scott he looked down at the table sheepishly. "Okay, okay, less of the sarcasm."

"That would be useful." Scott nudged him, flashing him a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Your head's still hurting you, I presume?"

"Yeah it is," Virgil admitted, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "But nothing that some paracetamol and hot chocolate hasn't already fixed. What are you doing down here anyway?"

"Oh um I was..." Scott stalled. "Thinking?"

"Don't do that, you'll hurt yousel- oh." Virgil broke off, realisation dawning. "You came into my room didn't you? Scott you _know_ I'm fine."

"Yeah, well, you almost weren't," Scott said stiffly, deliberately looking anywhere but at his brother, who had fixed him with a steady and understanding look. "You almost-"

"Enough with the 'I almost' stuff Scott," Virgil interrupted, placing one hand on Scott's back reassuringly. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"We were this close-" Scott raised his hand, thumb and index finger only centimetres apart. "-to losing you. There would have been nothing we... I... could have done to save you."

"You did save me," Virgil pressed. "It was _your_ voice that woke me up and stopped me dive-bombing into the sea. It was _your_ voice that encouraged me to keep going to reach the island and not give up.

Scott hung his head, staying silent. Virgil reached out and placed one finger under his chin, tilting his head up and forcing Scott to look at him. Rich brown eyes, so full of betrayal and fear in his dream, met Scott's ocean blue eyes with warmth and affection. "You can't get rid of me that easily." Virgil smirked briefly before going serious again. "Besides, odds were something like this was going to happen to us at some point."

Occupational hazards – don't you love 'em? "I guess," Scott said slowly. "But the fact still remains – you're my little brother and you almost died yesterday."

Virgil plucked the marshmallow out of his hot chocolate and popped it in his mouth. "'m l'ke a co'r'ch."

Scott looked at him blankly. "Come again?"

Virgil swallowed. "I said I'm like a cockroach."

"Cockroaches don't crash land giant green transporter jets that have had missiles fired at them by a warship, Virgil."

"This one does. And lived to tell the tale."

Scott stared at him for a moment, almost believing, before he chuckled and shook his head, ruffling Virgil's hair gently. Virgil grinned triumphantly and batted his hand away. An amiable silence fell over the pair as they both looked out at the ocean, wrapped in their own thoughts. Ever since they were younger, Scott had always felt particularly close to his fellow brown-haired sibling. The Terrible Twosome had been a match made in heaven, in their own eyes anyway – less so in everyone else's - while John had always preferred his own company. Their family had always made fun of the way Scott and Virgil could communicate with each other. Sometimes a look really did say it all in the case. It was a useful trick to have whilst on a rescue, even if it did baffle the hell out of everyone else.

"Do you reckon she's looking out for us?"

Scott blinked, looking at Virgil in confusion. "Who?"

"Mom."

Scott swallowed thickly. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"I- I think she was with me in the cockpit." Virgil mumbled.

"Huh?" Scott, who had just raised his mug to his mouth, almost choked.

"Just before I blacked out, I could have sworn I saw something out of the corner of my eye," Virgil admitted, rubbing his hand across the bandage on his head and wincing slightly. "It looked like the outline of a person. And I could smell something too, above the smoke. You know that perfume Mom always wore, the lavender one? Yeah... when I woke up it was gone."

Scott slung one arm across Virgil's shoulders and gently pulled him into a hug, Virgil's head cradled against his chest. "I believe you. It looks as if we've got ourselves a guardian angel then," he said. "And boy, am I glad about that."

Eventually disengaging himself somewhat reluctantly from Scott's clutches, Virgil yawned and got to his feet. "I'm going to try and get some more sleep. The more the better."

Scott called him just as he made to vanish down the corridor towards his bedroom. "Virg? Thank-you. I mean it."

Virgil dipped his head. "Any time. And _I_ mean _that_. I'll see you later, okay?"

Scott lingered for a few minutes after Virgil left before heading back to bed himself, finishing off the last few mouthfuls of hot chocolate and allowing a genuine smile to cross his face. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders – there would be no more nightmares tonight.

Back in the now deserted lounge, the curtains fluttered slightly. A small breeze carried a warm voice into the room along with the faint scent of lavender. _"I'm here my flyboys, and I will_ always _look out for you."_


End file.
